by Naomi West
She went inside and got on her computer. She emailed the university to ask if there was any coursework she could do online. If her loans would apply to online classes. She also looked up work from home job. If she could start bringing in an income, she could start saving, and eventually she’d be able to strike off on her own. One of the sites asked for her bank account information. She entered it, but it came up invalid.
That was weird.
She tried it again. Same deal.
With a sinking stomach, she called her bank. And was informed that her account had been closed two days ago. “Then where’s my money?” she demanded.
“Your father withdrew it. His name was already on the account, and as long as he provided the necessary documentation…”
Katrin hung up.
Her dad had taken away her bank account. What else had he done, or did he plan to do, in order to keep her under his thumb? She stood up, furious. She hadn’t even learned whether he planned to give her the Ford back. That was her car — her mother had bought it for her on her sixteenth birthday. Without it, she was trapped here. Cut off, friendless, jobless.
Alone.
She sat down at her laptop again. Took a couple of deep breaths, then googled the Blackened Souls. The Wikipedia article wasn’t very helpful. Just said the Souls were a motorcycle club in Texas and Oklahoma, suspected of some outlaw activity. No word on who they’d killed or whether they removed their enemies’ eyes with razor blades, or scalped them, or raped women just for fun, or what.
There was one article about a shootout where the suspected parties were a band of Blackened Souls and a rival gang, but the article was spare on details.
Who is he?
Is everyone in my life a liar? A criminal?
Can I trust anyone?
Was it something about her that attracted these people? Some kind of karma? Some defect of personality. All her life, she’d wanted to be good. To do good things. And look where it had gotten her. If she was going to survive the coming weeks, she might have to prepare to get her hands dirty. Prepare to deceive others the way she’d been deceived.
Maybe she could help Pistol take back his territory from her father. Maybe they could both fight this thing together, and at the end of it, they’d go their separate ways. Pistol back to his brothers, and Katrininto a new life whereshe called the shots.
But Katrin didn’t have a clue where to start.
###
“It’s not that bad,” Pistol said.
Deion cocked a brow. “Not that bad, huh?”
“Yeah, she’s … I mean, she’s been forced to marry a guy she doesn’t know. It’s weird for her, obviously.”
Deion turned down the radio as he passed. Went back to work on a tire rotation. “Did you two … you know.”
Pistol shrugged. “A gentleman never tells.”
“Fuck you, you always tell.” Deion grinned. “So I’m guessing you didn’t make it with her.”
Pistol didn’t answer.
“She an ice princess?”
“No!” Pistol surprised himself with how quickly and angrily he answered. “I just told you, she was forced to marry me. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t feel like fucking.”
“All right, man, sorry.”
They each worked in silence. Part of Pistol just fucking wanted to tell Deion the truth. That he was confused. That he didn’t know what to do to help Katrin feel safe, to get them both out of this mess. That there was no way in hell he was gonna have a baby — Leonard powers could threaten to blow his dick off for all he cared; he wasn’t gonna knock up some girl who didn’t even want to be with him. That all he wanted was for him and Deion to jump on their bikes right now. Take that ride up to Three Sisters. And never fucking come back.
“Did you ever want to get married?” he asked Deion. Christ, listen to him. Like a thirteen-year-old girl at a sleepover.
“I dunno, man. Probably not. I don’t want anything to tie me down.”
“Yeah.” Pistol rubbed a scuff off the bumper of a Taurus. “Me neither.”
His mom had married young — eighteen. His dad had been twenty-five. His dad had once told Pistolhe hadn’t been prepared for the responsibility of marriage. Not at all.“It’s not just about you anymore. You’ve got this other person who’s needs are just as important — sometimesmore important — than yours.”
Pistol’d always gotten the impression his dad had been a decent husband. Certainly he’d been a decent father. He just hadn’t known what to do about Pistol’s mom’s drug addiction. No one had. And he’d chosen to go out and play poker with his buddies rather than stay at home and protect Pistol from his mom’s tirades.
Deion cleared his throat. “Kong’s gotta get you out of there, man. We all gotta find a way to cut ties with Smith’s men. Smith called Kong last night, you know.”
“What?”
“Yep. Told Kong he needed to borrow a couple of our guys for a pickup.”
“And Kong said yes?”
Deion didn’t answer.
“Christ. Smith really is leading us all by the dicks, isn’t he?”
“We’ll find a way. Kong’s as tough as they come.”
Pistol wasn’t sure he believed that anymore. “Yeah. Let’s hope sooner rather than later.”
Chapter Fourteen
There was nothing romantic about married life.
Nothing.
Pistol left his socks on the floor. He kicked the covers to the floor each night, leaving Katrin shivering on her half of the bed. When it was his night to cook, he brought home takeout — either from the crappy Chinese place on 4th Street, or burritos from the Mexican joint notorious for its food poisoning potential. She, on the other hand, tried to keep the house tidy and cook healthy but low-labor meals — without actually doing too much work. If she did too much work, it would send the message to Pistol that it was okay for him to abandon his own duties, because she’d pick up the slack. But it was difficult to watch the dishes pile in the sink, to watch the floor of their bedroom become progressively littered in dirty clothes, to watch Pistol slurp down multiple bowls of her homemade chili when she’d picked an unidentified hair out of her takeout burrito the previous night.
And the thing was, she wasn’t sure whether Pistol was actually a slob, or whether he did this stuff to get on her nerves. Maybe he resented her. Maybe he was steadfastly avoiding anything that might be termed a workable partnership. She knew she sometimes caught herself glaring at him, hoping he’d notice, hoping he’d say something. Katrin had never raised her voice to anyone in her life, but sometimes, around Pistol, she found herself itching for an argument.
Katrin settled into an uneasy routine. Days while Pistol was at work, she’d get online and obsessively look up information on the U.S.-Mexico drug trade. She was never sure whether the information she got was accurate or what she planned to do with what she learned, but she wanted to know all she could. She found Reddit threads designed for people who suspected a loved one might be involved in illicit activity. Hotlines you could call. But she never called the numbers or posted in the forums. She never felt any closer to understanding why or how her dad had gotten involved in this shit.
He was a good man. He used to love me. I know he did.
Eventually she knew she had to give up trying to understand and focus on utilizing what few resources she had. She set up a new email address and linked it to a PayPal account, then started doing freelance medical transcription and copyediting. It gave her something to pass the time, and ensured she wasn’t completely financially dependent on her father or Pistol.
Pistol, who was going out for rides every few nights. Not saying where he was going or when he was coming home. Pistol, who could suddenly afford new gadgets and toys for his bike.
What are you doing, Pistol? Don’t let him lower you like this. How cozy were Pistol and her father getting? She didn’t ask, because she and Pistol barely talked. Mostly they just worked on avoiding each other. Except whe
n they found themselves in close proximity. When Katrin lay in bed listening to Pistol undress and change into pajamas. When they were both in the kitchen grabbing beer or a glass of water. Every time she was within a few feet of him, sparks crackled through her and her skin seemed to buzz. She’d lose focus; her heart would thud like she was still in middle school, sneaking glances across the aisle in biology at Dustin Faber. She’d find her gaze drawn inexorably to Pistol’s arm muscles, his lean hips, his ass, and she’d forget how to breathe.
Goddamn it. Why do I want him so badly?
Best to try to forget he lived with her. Best to focus on building her new life.
She was on the computer one day when her father called. She stared at the phone screen, her heart pounding, sweat breaking out under her arms. She almost didn’t answer, but decided that would cause more trouble than she needed.
“Hello?” she said, keeping her voice steady.
“Hello, dear.” Her father’s voice was warm, and she closed her eyes for a second, wanting to believe that he really did want to talk to her. “How are you?”
“Fine,” she answered stiffly.
“How is life with your new husband?”
What the hell did she say to that?He leaves his dirty socks everywhere, but every time I see him all I can think about is getting his dick inside me? “We’re surviving,” she said flatly.
He chuckled, and the sound made her sick. “Glad to hear it.” He paused. “And tell me, darling — are you happy?”
She nearly barked out a laugh. Was hekidding?
She steadied her voice. “Of course I’m not happy. I want to go to school. I want to be able to leave the house.”I don’t want to be a hostage.
Another pause. Then a soft cluck of his tongue. She couldn’t tell if it was meant to be concerned or mocking. “I see no reason why you couldn’t enroll next semester. And I’ll see about getting your car to you.”
She closed her eyes for a second, relief and gratitude flooding her before she caught herself.Don’t you dare feel grateful to him. He’s the reason you’re trapped like this in the first place.
His tone grew soft and serious. “But my dear, there is a request I’d like to make of you.”
The nausea welled up in her, and she focused on breathing.What? What else could you possibly want from me? Haven’t you destroyed me enough?
“What?” she asked, trying not to let her voice break.
“You see … part of my arrangement with Jax was that he would father a grandchild for me.”
Her heart dropped to her stomach. Bile rose in her throat and for several long moments, she couldn’t even think about replying. Her father had asked Pistolto get herpregnant?
“Dad…” She hated how timid and fractured her voice sounded. “Dad, what are you … what are youtalking about?”
“Katrin. My sweet girl. I know this is a lot to take in. But you’re married now. Surely you understand that this is the next step.”
“You can’t be serious.” Her voice was gaining volume now, but it seemed like hysteria rather than strength. “What makes you think I’d even let him touch me — a man I never asked to be married to? Let alone…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
Her father let out a soft sound of surprise. “Don’t tell me you haven’t even … Oh, Katrin. I thought you liked this guy.”
“Dad, I don’t even know him!”
“You seemed happy when you told me about him hitting on you.”
She let out an incredulous gasp of laughter. “I thought he and I wereflirting. I thought it was harmless. I never wanted to bemarried to the bastard!”
“Well, my dear, I’m sorry to tell you this. But I’m going to need you to do as I say.”
Tears streamed down Katrin’s cheeks, but she refused to let her father hear that she was crying. “You’re a monster,” she said fiercely.
Her dad made a soothing noise than made Katrin’s skin crawl. “Perhaps you’re angry with me now, but once you’ve fully settled into married life, and once you have a baby to take care of…”
“I’m not some broodmare you can breed to a stud you found in your network of criminals.” She wiped her eyes furiously.
“Katrin. Please. Try to look on the bright side—”
“I hate you,” she choked out. “I’ll never forgive you. Mom would beashamed of you.”
She hung up.
###
She didn’t come out of the office when Pistol arrived home. She listened to him putter around in the kitchen, then eventually heard him go out to the garage and start working on the bike.
She’d been numb since the phone call with her father. But now she felt angry. Angry and hopeless and terrified.
Get up. Get out there and start dinner. Focus on the routine. This battle isn’t over yet.
She made herself get out of the chair. Walked to the door one step at a time.
“Part of my arrangement with Jax was that he would father a grandchild for me.”
She walked slowly down the hall into the foyer.
I’m so scared, Mom. So scared.
And suddenly she heard her mother’s voice, clear as if it were coming from right beside her.You’ll be okay, Katrin. I’m here. I love you. We’ll get through this.
But how, Katrin wondered.
You knew, Pistol. You knew, and you didn’t say anything.
In the kitchen, she drank a glass of water. Then she got to work, wiping down the counters, cleaning grime off the stove burners.
She was taking the trash out, struggling to haul the overly full bag out to the garage, when she bumped into Pistol on his way into the house.
“Oh, excuse me,” she said, as though they were two strangers who had bumped into each other on the sidewalk.
He put out a hand to study her. “Here, let me take that,” he said.
“No, I’ve got it.” She gave the bag a tug.
“Hey, that’s way too full. Let me get it.”
She sighed, panting a little. “Well, if you don’t mind.”
He reached for it, and his hand brushed hers. She tensed, feeling a fluttering in her stomach, a rush of heat between her legs.
What’s wrong with you, she chided herself,you ought to feel sick just looking at him. Her face heated further.
She handed the bag over, trying to pretend she hadn’t felt that spark of electricity. Even he had some color in his cheeks.
So he’ll take the trash out if he sees me struggling, but he won’t put his dishes in the dishwasher or do his laundry? She went back into the house and tried to find ways to busy herself. Damn if she was gonna tackle the dishes in the sink. That was his job, and she’d gladly let them stack up to the ceiling before she’d do them for him.
She heard his footsteps approaching outside. The back door opened and he came in, smelling just slightly of motor oil and the outdoors. His T-shirt was damp around the neck, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his bulging, tattooed arms. He caught her eye for a second, then they both looked away.
Even if I want to fuck him — and God help me, Ido want to fuck him, that’ll just be playing right into my dad’s plan.
I get sick just thinking about it.
It was too early to start cooking dinner but it was her night, and she couldn’t think of anything else to do. She got out some pots and pans and pulled some veggies out of the fridge — Pistolhad salvaged a junker from his auto shop so they had a more efficient way to grocery shop than him going on his bike. And to his credit, he had done the grocery shopping the other day when she’d asked him to. Except he’d gotten all the wrong things. He’d bought a chili pepper instead of a bell pepper, instant rice instead of a bag of long-grain, dish soap instead of dish detergent…How did he survive before this? she wondered privately.
She started chopping veggies for a stir-fry, using the giant chef’s knife from the knife block. The same knife she’d hidden under the mattress her first night in this house. She heard him go to the fridge.
But he just grabbed a bottle of water and some string cheese and stood there chugging the water. She was inexplicably irritated by his presence, but whether because she actually wanted him out of the way or because she thought she’d come in her pants if she caught one more glimpse of those tattooed arms, she wasn’t sure.
“You should wash your hands,” she said finally, dicing the onion more quickly than was strictly necessary. “Since you touched the trash.”